


Bad Sex Poetry

by Spoon888



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bad Sex Poetry, Body Worship, Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Oral, Self-Denial, Snooping, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15391029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Starscream hates Megatron's poetry. Especially when it's about him.





	Bad Sex Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lmskitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmskitty/gifts).



> Fill for littlemisssexkitty, who had the best ideas about what sort of poetry Megatron might be writing about Starscream.

So Starscream shouldn't have been in the wash-racks. But there were many times he had been somewhere he shouldn't have. None of them had backfired quite so spectacularly.

Megatron had swept in like a grey storm cloud and cleared the showers for his own private use, sending his sudsy half-washed underlings packing because unlike the rest of his lowly faction, he needed undisturbed peace and an _entire room_ to himself do such simple maintenance.

Suspicious, but mostly indignant -and maybe a little spiteful- Starscream slipped back inside again afterwards, hiding himself behind the privacy wall. The steam rising from the hot solvent was slowly flooding the room, and with little but his dark helm poking out from behind the wall, Megatron was unlikely to notice him.

He was stood with his back to Starscream anyway. Tall and imposing even stretched with an arched spine and arms held overhead, his face tilted back to let the solvent stream down his neck. He swept huge servos over his helm, optics offline against the downpour. His guard at it's lowest.

Perfect.

Starscream was just considering how best to sneak up on him and hit him over the head with something heavy -and somehow make it look like he'd fallen and slipped in the shower, as was so often the downfall of aged mechs- when Megatron ex-vented heavily.

Starscream squinted through the cloudy steam and watched Megatron's dark servos wash his chest before dragging down, half turning out of the solvent. From this angle, Starscream couldn't quite tell what he was washing-

"Starscream."

The sound of his name sent a spike of fear shooting up his spine. He ducked behind the wall, knowing hiding now would help little if Megatron had seen him. He cringed, waiting for heavy pedefalls, for a huge servo to reach around the wall and curl around his neck-

" _Yes_..." A rich, hissing whisper echoed in the empty room, just audible above the spray of the shower.

Maybe he hadn't spotted him? Maybe he had misheard? Gathering his courage, Starscream poked his helm around the wall again, ready to come out with an excuse that he'd forgotten something, and an insincere apology for disturbing.

But Megatron wasn't waiting for him on the other side. He was still under the spray, his back to Starscream, helm down, one servo braced against the wall.

" _Starscream_..." His name was breathed, Megatron's glossa lingering on the end of it, in a thick, wistful tone.

Starscream felt his internals crack, and everything felt floppy. No one had ever said his designation like _that_ before. And Megatron certainly hadn't ever used that _tone_ before.

Almost against his own will, his own common sense, Starscream's optics tracked down Megatron's powerful frame, past his broad shoulders, his boxy torso, to where he could see his left arm working.

It was an inescapably obvious motion; that of a mech servicing his own spike.

Heat blasted across Starscream's face. Megatron's wrist was working relentlessly. Starscream stared, torturing himself with the thought of Megatron turning ever so slightly so he would see _it_. The length of Megatron's strokes implied there was a lot of it to work at.

He gripped the wall, feeling loopy at the thought of Megatron's spike, wet with solvent and hard as iron in his powerful grip.

Megatron's breaths halted with a grunt, a cut off noise that sounded _again_  like Starscream's designation. Megatron stiffened. The solvent continued to run but as it hit the floor at Megatron's pedes it briefly took a purplish tinge. The same vibrant colour as Megatron's knuckles as he released himself and held his servo under the solvent.

Starscream backed around the wall slowly, optics wide and bright and unable to dim. He reached for the door blindly, slowly, not daring to make so much as a whisper of sound should Megatron hear and find him and- and-

He snuck out of the door, processor swimming, sure that the only reason he hadn't emptied half processed energon all over the floor was because he couldn't open his mouth.

He mustn't have heard right.

Oh, Primus, he hoped he hadn't heard right.

* * *

 

He couldn't rest. Driven to distraction by what he'd thought he heard but probably hadn't. He felt flushed and nauseous, his tank's fluttering wildly.

He needed to know. He needed evidence, or he would never again know peace. How could he function in his faction with such a sickening thought hanging over helm?

He couldn't possibly confront Megatron. If he was wrong? He'd be slagged. If he was right? His tanks rolled around again- he didn't even want to think about what could happen if he was right. There was only one other thing he could do. Snoop.

He broke into Megatron's office. Most prominent figures kept diaries and Megatron with his inflated ego would be no different. He was a lover of the written word, and an avid writer even before the war. He must have thoughts more private and incriminating squirrelled away than what he wrote in the shift debriefs.

There were so many datachips and files that it looked like an impossible task. Starscream tutted at a stack of old world literature. Poetry. Disgusting.

It wasn't until he was emptying the top draw of Megatron's desk that he hit the jackpot. His knuckles knocked against the bottom with a hollow thunk. A false bottom? Why, whatever was he hiding?

Gleefully prising it open Starscream did indeed find a datapad. Although aesthetically identical to the others, it was locked with a password. After some failed attempts, mostly mocking (' _MegatronRulz_ ' ' _Gladiator4life_ '), he was in with ' _TillAllAreOne_ '.

"Loser." Starscream muttered, swiping through the most recent file entries.

It was, indeed, a diary. Time stamps and everything. Starscream scanned through a few, optics rolling at Megatron's pompous writing style and the excruciating detail with which he described the most menial of events, until he found one entry that wasn't titled with a date.

_There is nothing..._

Interested, he opened it up and found a poem.

_There is nothing more worth worshipping  
than a fool with armoured wing_

Excruciating. Starscream sighed deeply, re-reading the top line. He frowned, skimming down a few lines.

 _I can think of no better distraction_  
_or satisfaction_  
 _than seizing your thighs_  
 _and delving into my prize_

Starscream dropped it in horror, mouth agape, shaking out his servos like they'd been contaminated by this _erotica_ Megatron was writing. Oh, _gross_.

He picked it up again with the intention of hurriedly moving on to another entry. His optics caught another line, and he was reading it more out of shock than interest.

_roll my glossa through your folds  
and steal whatever treat your centre holds_

"Oh my-" He dropped it again and this time stood up. Bothered and restless, he stalked away from the desk and datapad, then stalked back just as angrily, picking it up again with shaking digits.

 _I would find great shame_  
_in having your frame  
only to find your did not live up to your name_

Oh Primus, no...

_yet you remain my fondest daydream  
my dearest, my Starscream._

Starscream flung it away from himself with a squawk. Not only sex poetry but _bad_ sex poetry. About him! He fanned himself with a servo desperately, cooling fans working on overdrive. He was so hot. Why was he so hot?

His over-active imagination just happened to make everything worse by supplying vivid images of what it might be like should Megatron act out his filthy musings. He felt a twinge between his hips and pressed his thighs together, squirming in Megatron's high backed office chair. He _wasn't_ going to think of Megatron, or his infantile frisky writings, or the thought of his servos on his thighs, his mouth on his-

His servos curled into frustrated fists. He pushed back the chair with an angry scrap and marched off to find a cold shower, or an industrial freezer.

* * *

 

He watched Megatron closely, suspiciously, looking for some sign, some indication of the perversions he'd written about in that poem. There were none. Megatron was as bad tempered and dismissive of him as he always had been.

What right did he have to write of him with fondness, to call him 'dearest'?

To write in such vivid detail what it would be like to stick his glossa in his valve.

It was repulsion alone that drove him back to Megatron's office, to the hidden diary, and anger that led him to reading more. He searched out the poetry, skimming through diary entries. it wasn't a recent infatuation. These writings were dated back years.

And not just in the poems but the diary entries too. Casual mentions of how Megatron thought he was ' _as annoying as he was beautiful, which is to say, a lot_ ', and long, rambling monologues explaining exactly what he wanted to do to him, should he ever get him into his berth.

Starscream was torn between humiliation and frustration, feeling oddly exposed by Megatron's imaginings; at how his leader seemed to view him. A swooning, promiscuous toy to be played with.

He was reading another entry, chewing on his lip as he read how Megatron described a dream of him- like a infatuated adolescent obsessing over their crush- going into exacting detail about what he had looked like spread across his berth. What he had let Megatron do to him. What he had sounded like when he had overloaded.

Did Megatron honestly have nothing better to do than to muse on the colour of his valve? He almost wanted to march up to Megatron and tell him it was black and red, idiot, not the ' _pearlescent white of the clouds he soars through_ '.

All the erotically romantic language was giving him processor lag.

Having enough for the day, he was about to leave. When he heard voices approaching from down the hall.

Hurriedly he tided up, tossing the incriminating diary back into the draw and straightening the chair against the desk. He stood just as Megatron entered, mid-conversation, Scrapper in tow.

"-Starscream." He greeted, recovering quickly. He was moderately uninterested considering he'd just discovered his treacherous second snooping around his office. "Can I help you?"

"Not at all," Starscream slinked around the outside of the room for the door, refusing to meet Megatron's optics after what he'd just read. "I was just taking my leave."

Megatron watched him go with a curious arch to his brow, but said nothing. Starscream did a awkward skip-run up the corridor to get away faster.

* * *

 

In his haste to escape yesterday, it appeared Starscream hadn't done a good enough job covering his tracks.

He didn't realise that until a datapad dropped to the workstation in front of him with a slap. So immersed he had been in his work, Starscream jumped, and jumped again when he found Megatron next to him, berating himself for not having heard him enter.

"Enjoy poetry now, do we?" Megatron asked.

The fuel in Starscream's lines ran cold, the bright open expanse of the lab suddenly darkening and narrowing until it was just him and Megatron, and all that was between them was the arm of Starscream's chair. His glossa fused itself to the roof of his mouth. He emitted a stupid weak noise.

Megatron didn't respond to his nonsensical panic. He turned and perched himself on the edge of Starscream's work desk, expression carefully blank, thighs spreading a little as he did so. They looked all the more thick and powerful from Starscream's vantage point because of it. His mouth, somehow, became drier.

"What did you think?" Megatron asked, like he was honestly after critic for his writing. He leant back further, asserting his dominance over the limited desk space. Starscream inched away.

With great difficulty, he peeled his glossa away from the roof of his mouth. He lied, "I hardly have time to waste reading your drivel."

"You didn't like it?" Megatron shifted, heavy armour scrapping against the desk. Starscream was level with his hefty codpiece. He struggled to keep his breathing level when he accidentally glanced at it.

"Too suggestive?" Megatron pressed.

"There was nothing _suggestive_ about that!" He snarled, angry and flushed. He shoved Megatron's knee, "Will you get off my desk!"

Megatron stayed put, his shove hardly moving him. Too make it worse he lifted one of his pedes and planted it on the edge of Starscream's seat, giving him an even better- _worse_ view.

He looked away with a huff, denta biting into his lower lip.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Megatron murmured.

Starscream clenched his denta, " _No_."

The workstation creaked as Megatron shifted his weight. He reached for him. Digits brushed Starscream's cheek and he veered back, snarling, tank flipping over.

"Don't _touch_ me."

"Do I really disgust you so?" Megatron asked, "I had thought, given your interest in my personal files-"

"Your revolting fantasies!" Starscream interrupted.

"And so horrified you were, you-" Megatron paused, looking down and checking the datapad, "-read over fifty of them?"

Starscream cringed away, humiliation rising. It hadn't felt like fifty. He could have sworn he'd only glimpsed, only been curious at what it was that Megatron had found so compelling to write page after page about.

Everything, had been the answer.

"I'm not interested." He tried, voice as weak as his resolve. "I have better things to do than entertain your perversions. To be your little toy."

"You're my muse." Megatron leant in and purred in a voice that sent shivers up Starscream's wings. "My inspiration."

Starscream stared at Megatron's lips, their wry quirk. They looked soft. Plump.

He was leaning in.

As soon as he realised he was getting sucked into Megatron's gravitational charm, he leant back, but fingers darted out, lightening fast, and caught his chin.

He shook them off, spark pulsing as he spat a sarcastically goading, "Who do you think you are, some sort of casanova?"

"Yes," Megatron murmured, catching his face with both servos clasped to his cheeks, holding him steady, drawing him in.

Starscream winced, bottom lip trembling.

Megatron kissed him, tasting like oil and fuel and _mech_. Starscream grimaced, smelling _Megatron_ and hating the zing of charge that snapped through his frame because of it. He made a noise into the kiss, and Megatron exhaled through his nose. It gusted across his cheek.

Lips parted, and Starscream flinched at the glossa on his lips, hot and slick and insistent. One of Megatron's servos slid down the back of his neck and brushed the hinge of a wing. His lips parted with a gasp, and Megatron thrust in.

"Mmph!" He grabbed Megatron's wrist.

Megatron drew back with a hushing noise, then came in with his glossa again. Kissing, and kissing. Starscream could pull away. Should pull away. Megatron grip was guiding, not restrictive, and the servo on his wing was getting familiar. He tried to remind himself that this was Megatron, to shock himself out of his stupor with the sheer horror of it. Big, brutish Megatron kissing him with glossa like this was a prelude to interfacing.

But every brush of glossa over lips melted his resolve just that little bit more.

"Come up here," Megatron murmured in a break, nuzzling at his cheek. He took Starscream's elbow and guided him up, out of the chair, to stand between his spread thighs. "Up here."

Starscream was half in his lap before coming to his senses enough to shake his helm.

"Wait- not-" he whined, struggling to escape Megatron's mouth as he chased his turning helm. "Wait. Not _here_ -"

He'd never be able to work with a clear processor again if he let Megatron do _things_ to him in his lab. The smell of it would permeate the walls as much as the act would his mind.

Megatron relented, hopping down off the workstation and taking him by the forearm. That grip soon slipped to his wrist, then his hand when Megatron was confident he wasn't going to run off. He struggled to keep up with Megatron's long strides, his legs shaking, knees weak enough to give. He could still taste him in his mouth, still feel him in the sting of his lips.

The walk was just long enough for him to regain his senses. They arrived at Megatron's door and Starscream dug his heels in.

"I'm not that easy to seduce!" He tugged back, holding his ground.

Megatron's squeezed his wrist, gaze smouldering, "You are."

"I'm not."

Megatron turned from the door and moved in. Starscream angled his helm away, scowling, then stiffening when an arm closed around his waist. "You are."

His nose brushed Starscream's when he leant in, his servo sweeping up to brush his wings.

Distracted, he shook his helm, "I'm... I'm not."

A mouth closed over his, and he was tugged backwards, lead over the threshold into Megatron's quarters. He leant into it, legendary willpower and resilience blowing away like smoke in the wind over something so simple as a kiss.

"You are." Megatron purred.

* * *

 

"This is beneath me," he said with conviction, hoping to convince himself.

Megatron had sat him on the end of the berth, given him a pillow, and told him to stick it under his aft and lay back. He did no such thing, holding it to his chest in a tight hug, like it was his last defence against Megatron now that his dignity had left the room.

"Why did you read those poems?" Megatron asked, dropping to his knees before him. It was so temptingly easy to kick him in the face from this position.

He wasn't stupid enough to answer such an incriminating question. So he changed the subject, bringing attention back around to Megatron's actions.

"Why did you _write_ those poems? Musing on what you can never have? Never taste?"

Megatron stared up at him like a predator about to pounce. Starscream could see him licking his figurative chops at just the thought of dragging his glossa over his armour and all that lay beneath.

"I don't know about 'never'." He purred.

Starscream's smirk slipped away from him, "I wouldn't be so smug. You haven't done anything yet. I might not let you-"

Megatron quirked a brow. "Might not let me?"

Starscream stuck his olfactory sensor in the air, "Like I said, I'm yet to be impressed."

"My mistake." Megatron inched forward, laying a servo on his knee, "That was someone _else_ moaning in the lab."

"No, that was definitely me you were molesting!"

"You want me to stop?"

Starscream looked away, grip tightening on the pillow.

"Do you, Starscream?"

"I want you to stop _gloating_." He burst out.

"Then I should kept my mouth busy," Megatron smirked, and a huge servo slapped against his outer thigh. Starscream jumped. "Open up."

"Ugh," Starscream shifted but didn't obey, "How charming..."

"You want me to charm you?" Megatron pulled out his diary threateningly. "I can read you-"

"No!" Starscream's leg flicked up and kicked the datapad out of Megatron's grip. It soared across the room and hit the floor with a slap. "No more poetry. It's terrible-"

"Yet you read it anyway," Megatron reminded him, creeping closer. His servo found Starscream's knee again and rested there heavily. "Are you sure you didn't enjoy it?"

"Don't quit your day job," Starscream snarked, mostly to save face. Megatron was pushing his knees apart, spreading his thighs. He twitched, trying to ignore what was happening. "You're better at writing politically."

Megatron nodded, though Starscream suspected he was no longer listening. Megatron's cheek came to rest against the inside of his thigh, not yet cause for alarm, but far too close to be acceptable.

"Must you?" He shifted, pushed at Megatron's big head, but that only drew Megatron closer. His cheek was warm against his armour, his breath thick enough to be felt on his sensors.

Megatron's helm turned so it was lips pressed to his thigh instead of cheek. He moved up, dragging them across armour, optics shuttering in bliss. He reached the apex of Starscream's thighs and shoved his nose against the hip seam.

Starscream tightened his arms around the pillow as Megatron nuzzled him like an affectionate pet.

He swallowed, "You're not really going to-"

"What did you read?" Megatron breathed against his panel, and an upwards glance allowed Starscream to glimpse his denta, shining with a smile. "I'm here to ' _take my prize_ '."

Starscream pulled a face, acting disgusted to counteract the throb of want between his hips. He could feel his array, online, hot, soft with energon. Megatron turned his helm and breathed loud and deep.

Then licked him.

Starscream's thighs tensed and Megatron continued, licking over the red armour between his thighs in broad strokes, glossa tip prodding at the seams around the panel edges. Against all common sense, Starscream let Megatron do as he pleased and didn't resist when digits nudged the arms he had around his pillow and tipped his backwards.

Megatron's position changed on the way down. As he let himself recline across his berth, his legs came up, knees clasped in Megatron's servos. He was spread out in an obscene display, hinges at their limit, so Megatron could fit his shoulders between them.

He hadn't realised he'd allowed his panel to retract at all until hot breath wafted over his mesh. He jumped, almost shooting upright, when a glossa dragging over the exterior of his valve threw him back down again, back arched. 

He made a pitiful little noise, digits digging into his pillow when Megatron hummed approvingly, sending tingles straight to his gut. Megatron's mouth closed over him, sucked lightly. When Megatron's glossa slipped between his folds, fabric tore as the pillow in his grasp ripped.

"Oh Primus..." He gasped, chest heaving from where he'd been holding his breath.

The glossa pressed to his anterior node and lapped diligently. Starscream could hear the slick meld of mouth and glossa and valve. Megatron's servos were stroking up and down his thighs, occasionally readjusting when they came too close to locking him in a headlock.

Unable to take it anymore, Starscream threw the half wrecked pillow away and grabbed at Megatron's helm, pushing him deeper. A grunt and a hum was Megatron's reaction to it, before the glossa left his node and shoved into his valve instead.

It was weird. Slick. Almost prehensile. Moving inside him in a creatively flexible way a spike never could. Starscream's optics glitched at the wonderful overstimulation, but he whined at the lack of depth. "Please-"

Megatron removed himself, which hadn't at all been what Starscream had wanted. He tried to shove him back in, but Megatron was too strong.

"Please?" He asked, smirking like a big smug idiot.

Starscream grit his denta. "Get on with it."

"Ask nicely."

Starscream squirmed in petulant protest, wanting to stamp his thruster. His valve throbbed, frame aching for it. He struggled against his pride. He would not resort to begging. Not for this. Not to Megatron.

A cool gust blew across his damp valve as Megatron blew on him lightly. Starscream cringed, a little squeak of protest escaping, "Fine! _Please!"_

Megatron rewarded him with a kiss to the thigh. "Hmm?"

"Please- keep touching me."

"Oh, Starscream," Megatron lifted his helm enough so that Starscream could see his smirk. "It would be my pleasure."

Starscream was about to spit a curse, when wet heat engulfed him again. He stroked the back of Megatron's helm distractedly, optics fluttering shut, hips swaying to the strokes of his glossa.

He could feel his overload bubbling closer, his knees pressed against Megatron's shoulders. Getting the hint, Megatron sped up, alternating licks and sucks and wriggling his glossa.

Starscream did curse then, shouting as he overloaded. His valve spasmed, flexing and fluttering on nothing as Megatron's glossa worked over his node, dragging his pleasure out. "Yes, _yes_ -"

Megatron was drinking it up, the release of charge and fluid, letting it smear his cheeks and chin, breathing thickly through his vents so he could keep his mouth latched to him. Starscream felt himself go limp as the bursts of pleasure began to dwindle, leaving him sprawled and breathless and flushed on Megatron's berth.

The mouth came away from his valve and kissed wetly at his thighs, his hip seams, moving upwards to lick and nuzzle at his cockpit. He let Megatron do it, too wrung out to protest, to do anything but moan listlessly.

Weakly, he glanced at Megatron, with his stained cheeks and deviously satisfied expression. He shivered at how much it made him want more.

"How was that?" Megatron asked, smirk implying he knew exactly how it had gone.

Starscream sighed softly, having neither the energy nor inclination to respond properly.

"At least now I know how well you live up to your name." Megatron commented, chuckling to himself.

Despite his exhaustion, Starscream somehow found the energy to lift his thruster and kick Megatron in the throat. It certainly stopped him laughing.

 


End file.
